


Cinder-Jaehaerys

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gender flipped, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Unbeta'd, cinderella story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 05:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11306415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: A gender-flipped Cinderella Story





	Cinder-Jaehaerys

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking loved this prompt. Thank you @speisla on tumblr for sending this one!
> 
> AU Cinderella!Jon and CharmingPrincess!Sansa xD

Jaehaerys:

He ends up where he always does: crouching by the hearth, covered in ashes. He tries not to close his eyes. Every time he does, he sees the cruel, purple eyes of his older brother, Aegon, and Uncle Viserys as they tear apart his doublet. Father just watched them do it.

Father promised that if Jaehaerys made himself some suitable clothes for the grand ball, he’d be able to go to his cousins’ festival. “Disappointment” and “half-a-bastard” though he may be, he’s still technically as much a prince as Aegon or Viserys. His father liked to blame Jaehaerys for House Targaryen losing control of Westeros, for the rebellion that split the Seven Kingdoms back into sovereign nations. It was, after all, the kidnapping of Jaehaerys’s mother that sparked the rebellion. Rhaegar Targaryen, his kingdom reduced to Dragonstone and part of the old “Crownlands”, claimed that if Jaehaerys had been born a girl, he’d have completed the prophecy that would have brought the dragons— and, by extension, Targaryen dominance— back. They also blamed Jaehaerys for Princess Elia, his father’s first wife and mother to Aegon, leaving with all the remaining Targaryen women.

It’s an idea many of the remaining Targaryens are eager to believe, and thus, it’s been Jaehaerys’s lot in life to serve as the scapegoat and servant to his once-mighty, but impoverished family.

This, though… This might have been his chance. His Stark Uncle, the King in the North, had announced a weeklong festival in honor of his eldest daughter’s sixteenth Name Day. Princess Sansa was named heir apparent to her father’s throne after her older brother, Prince Robb, abdicated to elope with a girl from the Westerlands. Of the various kingdoms of Westeros, the North was the largest, nearly the size of all the other kingdoms combined. On top of that, she was connected by blood to the King of the Trident and the Crown Prince of the Vale of Arryn.

The King of Winter invited every high-ranking House in Westeros to attend, and rumors were that he was looking for a suitor to win his daughter’s heart. Any man who won the princess would secure his family an unprecedented alliance for his House.

Jaehaerys isn’t so vain to think he could make the princess fall in love with him. Unlike his brother, uncle, and father, he lacks the valyrian beauty of House Targaryen. His eyes are a dark grey, instead of violet, and his hair is not silver-gold, but dark brown. He has a long, solemn face and according to his father, has none of the fire of a true Targaryen, just the cinders of lost greatness.

But he’d hoped to at least speak to his Stark cousins, perhaps get them to take pity on him and take him in. By all accounts, the Starks are kind, honorable people. And Jaehaerys believed he might have a chance of a life with them should he charm his uncle or cousins. Father would not refuse a request from the King of Winter, surely.

His father promised to take Jaehaerys if he could come up with an outfit fine enough to wear to the grand festival ball.

So Jaehaerys had stayed up as late as he could, constructing fine clothes from his brother and uncles’ castoffs, desperate to get to Winterfell.

He’d made himself an outfit of charcoal lamb’s wool trimmed in scarlet satin. A mix of Stark and Targaryen colors, that wouldn’t show any smudges of ash. 

But when he came down to the courtyard in his new finery, it took merely three seconds for Viserys to notice that the trim of Jaehaerys’s clothes came from an old robe of his. Aegon quickly joined in, noting that the lamb’s wool had come from a cape and a cloak.

“You’re a bloody thief!”

In seconds, Jaehaerys’s handiwork was in tatters, and his family was laughing at him.

Jaehaerys ran off, away to his cell. He’ll never get away from here, he’ll always be the bastard prince.

He curls himself into a ball beneath his threadbare covers and tries to disappear. 

When there’s a knock on his door, he shouts for whoever it is to go away. His father’s servants have always been kind to him. After all, he’s one of them. But he’s in no mood for comfort right now.

Usually, his friends are good about understanding such things, but this time, it seems, they won’t let him wallow. He hears a click and the door opens. But it’s an unfamiliar, feminine voice that speaks. 

“Raise your head and dry your tears, Nephew. You’re going to the festival.”

Jaehaerys does raise his head, only to find before him a woman he’s never seen before. Yet it takes him about half a second to realize who she must be. She’s beautiful, with bronzed skin, silver-gold hair, and amethyst eyes: the tell-tale traits of a Targaryen. 

“You… You are—”

“I’m your Aunt Daenerys, and I’m about to make your every wish come true.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d spent much of her life looking forward to her coming-of-age ball. The event that would announce to the world that she is a woman grown. A grand party for her, with guests from all corners of the world, music, dancing…

It was never supposed to come with so much pressure. Sure, her father had changed the laws at her birth to do away with gender preference in the line of succession, making Sansa second-in-line, but that was all she was ever supposed to be: second in line. Robb was strong, clever, good, and three years older than her. He was the heir, with all the pressures and responsibilities that entailed. She was the spare, the one with freedom. Not as much as her younger siblings, perhaps, since she was raised in much the same way Robb was, but certainly more choices than her older brother.

Then Robb had to go and decide that he was the Prince of the Dragonflies born again and run off with the Westerling girl.

Now Sansa is heir, and the future of the Stark line. And instead of her coming-of-age being an era of freedom and romance, it’s to be one of responsibility and obligation.

The Stark line has to be secured. And she is notoriously unattached.

As Crown Princess, she cannot afford to merely flirt and enjoy her special day. No, this is to be the step in one long, laborious process of finding a consort to help her rule the North some day.

Her older brother is unsympathetic. “Come now, Sansa, deep down, we both know you’re more suited for this than I am. You want this.”

Perhaps he’s right, in a way. Sansa’s always had a certain enthusiasm for matters of state. But did her brother have to saddle her with this before her coming-of-age ball?

Sansa winces as her seamstress pulls her gown even tighter. “Do you have to strangle me?!” She snaps. 

“We only want to show your figure to its best advantage, my princess,” the woman replies.

“I have a small waist already, you said so yourself!” Sansa points out, “How much more narrow does it need to be?”

“They’re only trying to give you the most fetching silhouette, Darling,” Mother says, sitting by the full-length mirror.

“Why bother?” Sansa asks, “I could be fat as a house and the whole court would still be tripping over themselves to earn my favor.”

Queen Catelyn sighs. “She’s right. Minnie, let it out. It’s not as if she needs the help.” 

Sansa smiles at her mother, grateful. “Thank you, Mother. Besides, how am I to choose my future consort wisely if the oxygen to my brain is cut off?”

Catelyn sighs. “We don’t expect you to choose your husband– 

“–In one week, yes, but you hope I will,” Sansa replies, “That I’ll lose my heart to one of your suitable, high-born guests, and not the grandchild of some foreign merchant.”

The mother and daughter look into one another’s eyes. Finally, Queen Catelyn sighs. 

“Yes, Sansa. That’s exactly what we hope.”

The princess tries to ignore the crushing disappointment of hearing her mother say it out loud. She looks away from Catelyn and over at her wolf, instead. Lady hops to her feet and pads over to her mistress. Sansa scratches her ears affectionately.

“Well, maybe I should let Lady choose for me. She’s always been good at identifying who is false and who is true.” 

Her mother groans. “Sansa…” 

“Or better yet,” Sansa adds, “Maybe I should unleash Ghost onto the guests. Whatever man can tame our bastard wolf wins my hand!”

“Keep talking like that, and your father will order that monster’s death,” Catelyn warns.

“If Father does such a thing, I’ll run off and marry the pig-boy!” Sansa threatens, “Then you’ll have Arya as your heir!” 

Her sister is rebellion incarnate, and would probably abolish the monarchy the moment the crown touched her head. She is their Aunt Lyanna born again. 

“Don’t even joke about such things,” Catelyn warns.

“Don’t make threats,” Sansa shoots back. Ghost is supposed to be Jaehaerys’s wolf. And this was their chance to finally meet their cousin. She would not present their poor, long lost relation without his wolf.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Jaehaerys:

He still can’t believe this. He’s flying. Truly flying. 

“How is this possible?” He asks his aunt as he clings to her. 

Daenerys grins. “Turns out the ‘Prince Who Was Promised’ was a princess all along.”

Jaehaerys’s stomach does a flip. “So I wasn’t the death of House Targaryen’s hopes!”

“Rhaegar is a pea-brained fool,” Daenerys replies, “Why do you think Elia ran off like she did? Why do you think she took us with her? She truly loved him, you know. But she saw what a shit he was, and she wasn’t going to let him destroy us all.” 

Jaehaerys runs his fingers against Drogon’s glittering scales. “So all this time, you’ve been in Dorne, with these dragons?”

“You’d be surprised how much you can hide in a desert,” Daenerys tells him, “You think we were going to let Rhaegar find out?”

She has a point. Still, Jaehaerys isn’t so easily won. Daenerys came to him with finery and promises, but there’s always a condition.

“Why are you helping me, then? I’m Rhaegar’s son!”

“Because you’re a Stark, and I want the Kingdom of Winter on my side when I build my new empire.”

That… That is far more honesty than Jaehaerys ever expected.

“So what, you expect me to seduce my cousin?”

“No, just form a connection with her entire family and eventually channel your influence into getting them to support me. We both have a lot to gain here, Nephew. Given the state my brothers and yours left you in, the sooner you’re free of those entitled shits, the better.” 

Jaehaerys swallows. So he’s a pawn. He’d ask about the consequences of not filling that role, but he’s too far into the air and too smart to suggest such a thing.

“How do you expect Father will react when he sees me at the festival?”

“You’re not going to attend as Jaehaerys Targaryen,” Daenerys replies, “You’re going as Prince Jon of Dorne. Prince Trystane is too young, so you’ll be going in his place. You’ll grow a beard and be outfitted in enough finery that there’s no way they’ll recognize you.” 

It’s a testament to his relationship with his family that he doesn’t doubt this.

“And how exactly am I to use my Stark connections if they think I’m a Martell?”

“You’ll tell them the truth at the end of the festival.” 

“And they’re going to trust me after I’ve spent a week lying to them?” Jon demands. 

Daenerys turns her head. “Seven Hells, Nephew, you really don’t know, do you?”

“Don’t know what?”

“The Starks have been trying to retrieve you since you were born.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Sansa:

Not even her mother matches her skills in faking enthusiasm. Today is proof of that, as even her queenly mother has begun looking bored while receiving their hundreds of guests. 

Sansa, though, keeps her smile bright and her eyes wide as she greets each noble and thanks them for attending. She’s been doing the same thing for hours now. The line of attendees seems never ending.

Her heart skips a beat when the Targaryen banner comes into view. At long last, they’re here!

She swallows her impatience in receiving the guests ahead of them. And it’s her restraint that makes the disappointment so much worse when she catches sight of the Targaryen party. Three men, not four, all of them silver-haired. But perhaps– 

“Presenting His Grace Rhaegar, First of His Name, of House Targaryen, King of Dragonstone, his son, Crown Prince Aegon of House Targaryen, and the king’s brother, Prince Viserys of House Targaryen.”

Sansa’s crushed. She can’t imagine how Arya, Bran, and Rickon will react when she tells them. Her smile nearly slips.

“An honor, Good Princes,” she says once they’ve greeted her parents. “But I must ask, could our cousin, Prince Jaehaerys not accompany you? We hope he’s not unwell.”

Prince Viserys slinks forward and grins, “Such a kind, considerate heart. Is it any wonder your name means ‘Charm’? My nephew merely preferred to remain behind and govern our lands in our absence. But he sends his best.”

Sansa tries not to shudder as the prince presses a kiss to her hand. Her heart sinks.

Perhaps the Targaryens have been telling the truth all of these years, perhaps Jaehaerys really doesn’t want to be with them…

The one bright spot in all of this is now gone. Sansa feels her spirit sink.

King Rhaegar is about to speak, when all of a sudden, an ear-splitting shriek rips through the sky. Sansa looks upward. Her jaw drops.

It’s a dragon, and it’s heading right for them.

~_~_~_~_~

Jaehaerys: 

He has to give his aunt credit, she definitely knows how to make an entrance. A bold one, too, as she has them swoop down just as his father, brother, and uncle are going through their introductions.

Jaehaerys keeps his eyes on the ground as they land, hoping his velvet cap and new beard might be enough to keep his family from recognizing him. He’s terrified, just seeing them again. As he and Daenerys alight from Drogon’s back, he half-expects Aegon and Viserys to run towards him and tear his clothing off again. 

He lets his aunt take the lead. She sweeps towards the Starks and makes a grand curtsey. “Your Graces, it is an honor. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and Mother of Dragons.” 

“HOW—?!” Father shouts, speaking for everyone, if their expressions are anything to go by. Every eye is glued to Drogon.

“Dear Brother!” Daenerys embraces Rhaegar, ignoring the question. “Other brother! Nephew! How lovely to see you!”

Jaehaerys realizes her game now. They’re all so focussed on the dragon, they won’t take much notice of him. No one ever notices him, though. So why should he be surprised?

No one ever notices him… Until now. There’s one person not staring at Drogon. Jaehaerys looks up to meet two large, sapphire eyes gazing upon him. The most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, attached to the most beautiful everything else he’s ever seen.

Her face is not only clear, creamy, and delicate, it’s kind. Her hair is a waterfall of auburn silk. And she holds herself with a natural grace and elegance. Jaehaerys’s mouth goes dry.

“And, of course, allow me to present my cousin, Prince Jon of Dorne!”

The King of Winter is a stern-looking man with greying brown hair and silvery eyes. The queen is a beautiful redhead with a calm disposition. Jaehaerys bows to them. “Your Graces.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Jon,” Queen Catelyn says kindly, “Allow us to present our daughter, Princess Sansa.”

Jaehaerys almost faints when she smiles at him and extends her hand for him to kiss. But he reminds himself that he’s not Jaehaerys anymore, he’s Prince Jon, and he ought to act like it.

He presses his lips to the back of her hand, inhaling a fresh, lemony scent, and looks up at her, a smile spreading across his lips. He can’t help it. “Dear Princess,” he hears himself say in a voice far too confident, too bold to be his own, “I flew here with my cousin with many pleasantries prepared, but I confess I’ve forgotten them all in your presence. Perhaps it is for the better, though. Meeting you at last, I am compelled to offer you only the sincerity you deserve. Forgive me for ever thinking rehearsed charms were worthy of you.”

Where did that come from? He sounded like one of those dashing heroes he read about in the castle library. But these words just flow from him. And with them, his fear of his father, uncle, and brother. Princess Sansa’s fixed smile softens to something genuine and it fills him with a rush of excitement and confidence he’s never known before. 

Looking at her, he feels like a hero from a story. A story all his own. The story of Prince Jon, not Jaehaerys of the dragon cinders.

A blush rises to her cheeks. It’s beautiful. “I’d heard the Dornish possessed a certain charm, but I confess, this is something altogether different than what I’ve seen from Ambassador Blackmont.”

“I merely speak the words you inspire, Princess.” 

It’s the truth, and he can tell that she knows this.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

“May I have the first dance, Princess?”

She’d arranged for the Targaryens to be seated closer out of hope that they’d bring cousin Jaehaerys. The result is that oily Prince Viserys being the first among the guests to reach her. 

Jeyne and Beth think Viserys is handsome. Sansa doesn’t like the hungry look in his purple eyes. 

But she feels compelled to agree. Rejecting such a high-ranking guest so quickly, so publicly would cause an incident. Reluctantly, she grants him the first dance. 

He doesn’t let go of her when a new song begins. When she tries to pull away, he pulls her to him more tightly.

“You’re so shy,” he remarks, “So sweet, so dutiful. A vision of virtue.”

It takes all her self control not to roll her eyes at this. Clearly, he’s not going to let go so easily.

She thinks quickly and pretends to be charmed by him. When they sway past the band, she leans out and calls to Victen, the band leader, “The Blizzard Reel!”

A northern dance that will surely knock this wannabe dragon on his arse. Sure enough, after a few minutes, the Blizzard Reel starts up.

Unfortunately, Viserys manages to keep up better than expected. “So the winter princess has some fire in her after all!” 

She’s ready to gag when she’s swept up by another male dancer. Her heart skips a beat.

It’s Jon, the Dornish prince.

“Are you in need of rescue, Madam?”

“Yes,” she says.

He nods. “Next partner change, then.”

She’s in Viserys’s arms again, but the reel calls for a passing of partners. And before long, she’s in the arms of the Dornish prince again. The two of them spin and turn, well out of bounds to the sidelines. He releases her, but Sansa continues to hold onto his doublet, and drags him out of the ballroom and into the hall.

“I wouldn’t expect a Dornishman to be so skilled in a Northern dance!” She remarks, truly grateful.

Prince Jon blushes. “To be honest, I was guessing the whole way through.”

“Really?” She can barely believe it. “Then why—?”

“I saw you with Prince Viserys. I wanted to help you.”

“I take it my instincts about him are correct, then,” Sansa replies, looking the prince up and down, “He does not seem a kind or honorable sort.” 

“There’s a reason my Aunt Elia fled the Red Keep as she did,” Prince Jon says, “Prince Viserys was only a boy at the time, but he showed every sign of being as cruel and selfish as his father. Everything we’ve heard since only confirms it. He is a foul man, Princess Sansa. Prince Aegon and King Rhaegar are no better.”

Sansa’s heart skips a beat. “And my cousin? Prince Jaehaerys? What have you heard of him?” 

Prince Jon hesitates. “He… He does not live a happy life, Princess.”

Sansa clenches her teeth and fists. “I knew it. He’s kept away by that knave Rhaegar, just as my Aunt Lyanna was.” Her heart breaks for poor Jaehaerys. So alone. Living amongst such foul, cruel men. Motherless, with a villain for a father. Her eyes well up with tears. “He should be here, with us.” 

“You… You care much for your cousin, Princess?”

Sansa looks up. “Of course. Rhaegar stole my Aunt Lyanna, raped her. She died bringing my cousin into the world. The Seven Kingdoms split apart to end the tyranny of the Targaryens. But my father never got to save his sister. Jaehaerys is all we have left. And our family will never be complete until we get him back. And to be raised among such people…” She shudders. 

A handkerchief appear before her. Prince Jon’s face is kind. “Do not fret, Princess Sansa. There may be hope for your cousin, yet. I’m sure he’s a strong man. After all, he’s a Stark, like you.”

Sansa can’t help but smile. “Indeed. There’s even a wolf waiting for him here.”

“…Pardon?”

Sansa wipes her eyes with the kerchief. “A direwolf. Several years ago, my brothers found a dead direwolf in the woods. A true direwolf hasn’t been seen south of the Wall in centuries, mind you. But here she was, recently killed, but with six pups still trying to nurse from her. Four were male, two female. One of the male ones was an albino. Silver-gold fur, like a Targaryen. My brothers brought the pups home, and we each took one. We’re closer to our wolves than anyone or anything. But the albino one has always been the odd one out. He’s wild. He only behaves himself around myself or my siblings. And we’ve always known that he’s meant for our cousin, Jaehaerys.” She hangs her head. “It probably sounds mad to an outsider, I know…”

“…That’s… That’s beautiful. And you’ve been raising this wolf all this time?”

Sansa nods. “He’s wild. They’ve wanted to put him down many times, but we won’t let them.” 

“Sansa… That…. I…”

But before he can say anything more, they’re interrupted by the appearance of Princess Daenerys.

“Jon, I need you.”

~_~_~_~_~

Jon:

He glares his aunt as she rails against him. “What if Rhaegar or Viserys overheard you?!”

“Let them,” he retorts, “I don’t see why she shouldn’t know. My family has been trying to get me back for years. They’ll protect me.”

“Not if your other family gets to you first! Trust me, Jaehaerys, you want them far away before anyone knows who you truly are. Do you honestly think they won’t do anything possible to gain leverage over the Starks? Over me? All I ask, Nephew, is that you stick to the plan!” 

He sighs and looks at Daenerys. She’s done so much for him, and he owes her that much. “Fine. But… Aunt Daenerys…”

“…What?”

He groans. “I think I’m in love with her. And I’m not sure I can lie to her.”

Daenerys groans. “For pity’s sake! You’ve spent your entire life holed up in Dragonstone! How could you possibly know what love is?!”

“Easy. It’s everything I’ve ever been denied,” Jon answers, “And I feel it when I’m with her.” 

His aunt groans. “Fine. Love her. Woo her. That’s fine. But if she truly loves you back, she’ll understand a week of deceit.”

“Why should she?” Jon asks. “She deserves better.” 

“Because you’re the prince in the tower, Jaehaerys. Because we all deserve better. And if she’s the girl you think she is, she’ll understand.” 

Daenerys sits beside him, and places a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s just a week, Jaehaerys, I promise.” 

He frowns. “Very well, on one condition.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me ‘Jaehaerys’ again. That’s the name Rhaegar gave me. I’m not going to be his victim anymore. I’m Jon now.”

Daenerys smiles. “Very well, Jon.”

Jon is not the tattered, ashen, half-bastard. Jon is the man who loves Sansa, who is a Stark, who can stand up to Rhaegar, Viserys, and Aegon. Jon is the prince in Winterfell, not the boy he left behind in the cinders of Dragonstone.

The week carries on, and Prince Jon scores victories. Sansa gives him her favor for the tourney. Jaehaerys was trained in combat and jousting, as Rhaegar refused to allow any of his sons to be “weaklings”, even the half-bastard ones. He was never as good as Aegon, though. 

But Jaehaerys is gone. And Prince Jon isn’t afraid of his older brother, or his uncle, or even his father. He faces Rhaegar in the finals, and the terror Jaehaerys always felt under the violet eyes of Rhaegar Targaryen melts away. Jaehaerys’s knowledge of Rhaegar, however, doesn’t. Jon knows Rhaegar’s weaknesses, and he has the courage to use that knowledge. After three tilts, he unhorses his father.

Prince Jon presents the princess with a crown of Winter Roses as Rhaegar Targaryen marches from the field furiously.

He claims the first dance from Princess Sansa, and when she retires, she slips him a note to meet her in the godswood.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

She’s not a fool. She’s noted the changes in Ghost’s demeanor. She’s come to realize that ‘Prince Jon’ is too pale to be a Martell, to comfortable in the Northern climate, and that he bears more of a resemblance to her father than to any Dornishman she’s ever met. 

And Gods, does she hope she’s right. 

So she brings Ghost and Lady to the godswood. And she waits. And waits. There’s a rustling in the bushes, then a cry.

Ghost jumps to his feet and runs for the clearing. Horrified, Sansa takes off after the wolf, Lady following.

She can barely make things out in such darkness, but two men struggle to subdue another. Ghost charges forward, sinking his jaws into the arm of one of the attacking men. 

“SANSA!”

Jon’s voice. But before she can do anything, a blinding pain pierces her shoulder. Sansa sinks to the ground, stunned.

It’s an arrow, she’s been shot.

She hears Jon’s voice again. “GHOST! PROTECT SANSA!”

“NO!” She screams, trying to get close to Jon. “STOP!”

Another arrow hits her. Then one hits Lady. Sansa screams.

The world goes black. 

~_~_~_~_~_ 

Jon:

They give him something to keep him from struggling, and before he knows it, he’s waking in a dark room, bound to a chair. 

His eyes are barely open when the first blow comes, striking him across the face.

“Tell us about the dragons.”

Jon looks up at the cruel, purple eyes. “Is that why I’m alive, Uncle?”

Viserys glares. “That’s why you’re alive for now. And the sooner you tell us what we need to know, the easier your death shall be.” 

Jon glares. “You’ve always been a sadist, Viserys. But you’ve never been particularly bright. I’ve grown up with you, remember? How many times did you make promises to me, then break them? I’ve always been your plaything. There’s nothing to stop you from torturing me, regardless of what I tell you.”

His uncle howls and strikes him again. Jon feels his right eye begin to swell.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF MY SON!”

His father is like a giant bat, descending upon them. Rhaegar comes closer, shoving Viserys aside.

The world goes dark again. He wakes in a soft, warm bed. Rhaegar sits at his bedside, smiling down at him. 

As a child, Jaehaerys would pray and hope and wish and obey and endure out of hope that one day, his father would look at him with the same pride and affection he showed Aegon. Jaehaerys forgave his father everything, hoping against hope that one day, Rhaegar would love him.

But Jaehaerys is gone. Jon knows better.

Still, it’s hard not to feel the effect of Rhaegar’s smile. To feel his heart ache when his father strokes his cheek for the first time.

“Jaehaerys,” Rhaegar whispers, “My son. My sweet, dutiful boy. What have we done to you?”

Jon actually laughs. “Where to begin?”

“I’m sorry, Jaehaerys, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Your whole life, I’ve been taking my failures out on you. I’ve mistreated you, neglected you, abused you… I should have been a better father, but… I couldn’t look at you without seeing your mother. I blamed you for her loss. I’ve failed you and her. I’ve failed everyone.” 

Jon feels sick. Rhaegar sinks to his knees before him, hands clasped.

“Please, my son… Forgive me. I promise you, it’ll all be different now. I understand now. You’re my Prince that was promised, not Aegon. You’re the Song of Ice and Fire. You’re everything I’ve fought for. I was blind, but I understand now. Let me help you… Let me help you become the king you were meant to be. You are meant to bring back the greatest empire in human history, my son. The Prince Who Was Promised. Let me help you take the world that’s rightfully yours, Jaehaerys. Let me be the father I should have been all these years. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Jon looks into his father’s eyes. “Sansa,” he whispers, his throat parched.

Rhaegar hurries to bring a cup of water to his lips. “Pardon?” He asks, when Jon has imbibed the whole cup.

“Sansa!” He says, more forcefully. “Princess Sansa!”

His father hesitates. “Of course. She’ll be yours. It seems you’ve inherited my preference for Stark girls.” He chuckles nervously. “She’ll be your queen, Jaehaerys, if you wish it. Once we take the dragons, there won’t be a single woman beyond your grasp. The Valyrians of old had many wives, after all. All we need is to get the dragons from my sister, and…”

“You shot her!” Jon says through clenched teeth.

“Oh, my son, you’re delirious, you–”

“—NO! YOU SHOT HER! AND I SWEAR, RHAEGAR TARGARYEN, IF SHE HAS PERISHED, YOUR DEATH WILL NOT BE QUICK!”

“MAESTER FRANCEL! COME IN AND ATTEND TO THE PRINCE!” 

“I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! NEVER!” Jon shouts. He’s restrained and some other liquid is forced into his mouth.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

They try to stop her. They make promises. Father says he’s sending armies, that he’s conferred with Princess Daenerys.

“You must stay in bed, Sweetling, you’re hurt!”

They sedate her at first, but stop when she refuses to eat. Her wounds are healed well enough.

“Father,” she tells her king, “If you want me to succeed you, then you must let me be a leader. You would let Robb go, we both know it.” 

“I let Robb go, and I lost him!” Her father protests.

“You’ll lose me if you don’t let me go.”

She was never martially inclined, but she knows how to find Jon. Reports from a siege Daenerys laid against Dragonstone yielded nothing. Rhaegar, Viserys, and Aegon have vanished. No one has any idea where they are. There have been reports of sightings all over Westeros, but they all turned out to be dead ends and decoys. Rhaegar has exhausted all of his remaining resources to keep his son hidden. 

But Sansa knows how to find them.

Ghost stays by her side as faithfully as Lady, but when she saddles her horse, the white wolf knows what to do.

Ghost is Jon’s wolf. He always has been.

Many of her forces think she’s gone mad. And some desert her. It doesn’t stop her. She follows the wolf through the North, through the Riverlands, the Crownlands, and the Storm King’s domains. She follows Ghost through the Dornish marches. 

More and more of her men melt away, insisting she’s gone completely mad. She doesn’t care.

She comes upon the tower in the Prince’s pass. A ruin, really. It’s just her, Ghost, and Lady.

She realizes where she is. Where she must be. Seven Hells. History repeats itself in the strangest ways.

Viserys laughs at her when he sees her. He stops laughing when Ghost rips out his throat. Aegon goes much the same way.

She finds Rhaegar and Jon at the top of the tower, the king holding a blade to his son’s throat. 

“One more step, from you or your beasts,” the king rants, “And he dies.” 

She can tell from the mad look in his eyes that he’s not bluffing. Her heart breaks at the sight of Jon. He’s thin as a skeleton, his eyes are hazy. What have they been doing to him?

Sansa sinks to her knees. She can stand no longer. “Jon…” She sobs, “I’m so sorry…”

“You can both make it out here alive,” Rhaegar says, grinning, “Just… Just get him to tell me about the dragons. That’s all. All I want are the dragons… Tell me how to take my sister’s dragons…” 

“I don’t know!” Sansa cries, eyes glued to edge pressed to Jon’s throat.

“But he does! He rode them! He rode them with her!” Rhaegar rants. “He’ll tell you, won’t he?”

Sansa takes a deep breath. “Yes, he’ll tell me anything. He loves me.”

“Tell her, Jaehaerys! There she is! Right there! Sansa! Your Princess! I got her for you! She’s fine! Now tell her, son! Then you can be king, and she’ll be your queen! And we will all rise again!”

Jon mumbles something. Rhaegar grins and bends his ear closer to his son.

“At long last…” The Mad King croaks, “My whole life… Just… just say it a little louder, Jaehaerys…”

“I said…” Jon murmurs. “MY NAME IS JON!”

Jon seizes the blade, yanking it from his father’s hands. Ghost pounces. Rhaegar falls. Jon towers over his father, furious.

“Jaehae— Jon, please…”

Sansa’s breath catches as she hears the prince reply, “You shouldn’t have hurt her.”

She crawls over to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders as Rhaegar bleeds out.

“Jon…” She whispers. “Come home with me.”

He nods slowly. “We’ll have a family. A real one.”

They help each other to their feet, and Jon leads her into the chamber where he was kept. The wolves follow. The two collapse.

It’s a new dawn when they wake, and Sansa helps him onto the saddle. They ride North, his arms about her waist the whole way. 

She sends word ahead to Winterfell and arranges for a ship to take them to White Harbor. She nurses him back to health in his cabin.

When they finally make it back to Winterfell, Sansa finds that her mother has done as asked, and the preparations are well underway for the wedding. Her sister greets her with tears of joy. 

“Thank god you’re back! I don’t want to be queen!”

The princess weds her prince in the godswood, and they live happily ever after.


End file.
